


Go for the 'W'!

by moodyme



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam is a little awkward around kids but HE IS TRYING okay?, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Hockey, I haven't seen Mighty Ducks in 15 yrs and yet this is vaguely based on it, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Violence, Ronan is Opal's dad in this, brief discussion of child abuse, descriptions of hockey typical violence and injuries, discussion of hockey typical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-06-22 09:37:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19664728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyme/pseuds/moodyme
Summary: Adam Parrish is a successful lawyer whose friend has just roped him in to coaching his friend's daughters peewee hockey team.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, a couple things: The second chapter of Filthy Yakker will be up soon, so will all the other prompts I've written for the Hours series, and an update of TANM and CAVU is also going to happen soon. But look... this has been saved for... a really long time in my files, and I finally decided to publish it. Sorry for this unedited nonsense. If it sucks, tell me 🤷♀️  
> The title is lame, and so am I, so feel free to suggest another title.

Adam Parrish did not like the smile Richard Campbell Gansey III was wearing today. He did't trust it. Was immediately suspicious of it. This was a smile Adam knew, recognized, had seen Gansey use with others but rarely him. It was the smile he wore when he wanted something from you but did not want you to know he wanted it.

"Parrish!" Gansey greeted, perhaps 15% more enthusiastically than he normally did. This increased Adam's apprehension.

"Gansey," Adam smiled, slowly. He searched his mind desperately for something that could distract his friend, and said the first thing that came to mind, "How is the O'Hara case going?"

"Oh," Gansey muttered, visibly surprised by the question, if the heightening of his brows was any indication. "It's going well, thank you for asking. It's against a manufacturer that hasn't got much clout, and the CEO keeps saying asinine, borderline incriminating, statements to the media."

"Not to mention that their product is proven to be responsible for the deaths of three persons." Adam added.

"Too true!" Gansey sighed. Adam knew the deaths weighed on him, it was the reason he had taken the case pro-bono, and now Adam felt like shit for having reminded him of it.

"If you need any help going over your closing statements, I can give them a quick once over?" Adam offered, hesitantly.

"No, no, it's quite alright, they practically wrote themselves," Gansey laughed. Then, he hesitated for a moment, and Adam knew this was it. This was why Gansey had tracked him down to the third floor water cooler. "Didn't you play hockey in college?"

The question surprised Adam, and brought a torrent of flashes of memories in its wake. The crash of his body against the boards. Seeing Gavin, his then 11 year old pee wee teammate, spitting up blood in the middle of a game after getting checked by an older and bigger opponent. His father, yelling obscenities, demanding he be better faster stronger more more more, but not too much more, not too good, don't outshine his fathers faded star.

The rush of freedom as he raced across the ice. The adrenaline that coursed through him with every slap of his stick against the puck. The tingling, thrilling, awe filled moments when he made a goal. The celebrations afterward, his teammates huddled around him, the camaraderie, the planning for the next game, the joy of it all. 

The way it all ended.

"Yeah," Adam finally answers, perhaps later than he should have. Relief breaks across Gansey's All-American-Classic-Hollywood-Handsome face.

"My friend's daughter is on a pee wee team, and her coach just quit." Gansey's smile grew and Adam's gut twisted. "Do you know anyone that would be willing to coach them?"

Adam heard the question beneath the question. "Will you coach them?" Gansey was saying. And Gansey was the son of the founders at their firm, when he asked a question, it wasn't really a question, it was an order that was sugar coated as a request. Sometimes, Adam wondered if Gansey knew that. Somehow, he doubted it.

"I would be happy to do it," Adam lied. He smiled, and that was a lie too.

Adam stood near the exit, hidden from the kids on the ice, but with a perfect view of their abominable playing. Well. No, it wasn't really playing.

The goalie was sitting on the bench, picking his nose. Two of the players were loudly arguing about ninja. Another kid was slowly skating along the rink. One kid was smacking pucks into the goal, badly. The kids form was way off. The only redeeming quality they exhibited as a team was arriving to practice on time, despite the absence of a coach.

With a final sigh and a silent cursing of Gansey, he ambled down the small arena's bleacher stairs, unnoticed by the kids mucking about on the ice.

"My name," Adam said loudly when he arrived at the edge of the rink, "is Adam Parrish, and I'm your new coach. Which one of you is the captain?"

"I am," the kid (a girl, by the voice) who had been been practicing shots said, raising her hand as she did so. The other kids started gathering around him with a hand gesture. The girl loudly whispered to the kid nearest her, "See! I told you Gans found us a new coach!"

"Name?" Adam asked.

"Opal, sir, Opal Lynch," Opal answered, saluting, for some unfathomable reason, after.

"Nice to meet you," He said, before turning to the rest of the team, "Alright, introduce yourselves and state your position. When you're done, I want you to play a game, show me what I have to work with."

A chorus of enthusiastic "Sir, yes, sir's" rang out. Adam suppressed a groan.

"Okay," Adam said when the team finished. It was worse than he thought. They were horrible. Abysmal. Adam had never played anything for fun, he was too determined, too competitive, but he hoped these kids enjoyed playing for fun. That was what was important for kids playing sports, actually. That they have fun. Yeah. "Okay, good effort. Now that I know how you guys play, I can work on some exercises to run through."

"Coach Parrish?" Charlie, the goalie, said, "We know we sucked."

"Yeah," Opal piped up, "It's why we've never won a game."

"That's fine, never winning a game is fine," Adam tried to assure them, "It happens."

"No it doesn't," Jacinto objected, "And it's not fine."

"We want to win the district tournament," Charlie said. 

"We want to kick the Brownville Beluga's asses, we want to win the tournament, sure, but we mostly want to kick the Beluga's asses," Opal clarified.

"Same thing!" Charlie insisted, "They win every year!"

This ignited a litany of agreements, and general threats towards the Beluga's, and some whining from an unknown source.

"Hold up, hold up!" Adam said, raising his voice, "Who are the Brownville Beluga's?"

"The best team in the district, and a bunch of assholes," Opal informed him.

"Okay, and you guys want to beat them? To win the tournament?" Adam asked.

"Yeah, duh," Charlie replied with an impressive eye roll.

"No matter what it takes? No matter how hard you have to work?" Adam said. 

The kids discussed their answer between them in a huddle for several long moments. Eventually, the huddle broke, their decision made. There was fire in each of their eye's.

"We won't cheat, but we'll do anything else," Opal informed him.

"Alright," Adam sighed. He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling, down to the ice under his feet. How long had it been since he had been on the ice? A year? Longer? He hated what he was about to say, but it was the truth, he was speaking from experience, after all. "Alright. But if you want this, if you really want it, you're going to have to work hard. You'll sweat and cry and maybe bleed. You'll eat sleep breath hockey, and only hockey for months. And after all that hard work, you may still lose your first game of the season. Or maybe it pays off and you win the tournament. Neither outcome is guaranteed. The only guarantee is that, in the end? Fifteen years from now? You're going to hate me. You'll curse my name every time you think of me. For making you work hard. For the sore muscles. For everything. Now, for the last time, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Sir, yes, Sir!" Was again chorused back at him.

"Alright then, let's do this!" Adam said, clapping. "And Opal? No more cursing on the ice."

After practice ended and parents trickled in to retrieve their kids, Adam introduced himself to them. From one of the mothers, he learned that the former coach had also once been a drill instructor. This very helpfully explained the 'Sir's' that kept getting thrown his way. He just wasn't sure now how to get them to stop.

Opal was the last kid to leave, running off to the locker room to change with a quick "Just a sec, Dad!" when a dark figure approached the rink. 

He was handsome, in the same way that a lighting storm could be beautiful, until a stray bolt of 50,000 degree lightening struck you and suddenly you're dead. His hair was shaved close to his head, and he wore dark clothes. He didn't look like a dad. He looked like a, well, like something that wasn't an appropriate thing to compare someones dad to. God. 

"You Adam Parrish?" Opal's dad asked, "I'm Opal's dad, Ronan Lynch."

"That's me, yes." Adam answered, "Nice to meet you."

* * *

When Gansey had told him he had found a replacement coach for Opal's hockey team, he had been hesitant. Mahoney had been a good enough coach, and Ronan had liked the octogenarian. Sure, he didn't really know much about hockey, but he had been likable. Which meant Ronan didn't feel the need to hit his head against the nearest solid surface repeatedly while he was in his presence.

"He's probably going to make partner soon," Gansey had informed him over the phone. Which. Did not bode well for the man.

All the partners he had met or knew of at the Gansey seniors firm were middle-aged, racing towards their second divorce, workaholic, stuffy, republican, sycophants. They were all people he felt like hitting his head repeatedly against the nearest solid surface when he was forced to share a space with.

The man standing before him, in old jeans and a puffy jacket. With freckles splashed against his nose. With white air curling from his mouth when he breathed. With icy blue eyes. He was very much not a middle aged man. Ronan forced himself to remember that everything else about him might fit the profile of a typical partner at the law practice of Gansey Gansey Dipshit Shithead Jackass and Fucker.

"You Adam Parrish?" Ronan asked, although he knew he was, "I'm Opal's dad, Ronan Lynch."

"That's me, yes," Parrish answered quickly. Ronan realized that while he had been looking at Adam, Adam had been looking at him. Ronan wondered what he saw. "Nice to meet you."

Ronan considered taking Adam's outstretched hand, but decided against it. Instead, he tugged his head towards the general direction of where the kids had straggled off to, and asked, "How'd they do?" 

"Badly," Adam answered with a shrug, tucking his previously proffered hand into his jeans, "But they want to improve, and I think I can have them ready for the district tournament."

"What do you mean?" Ronan said, confused. "They're fine."

"Mr. Lynch-" Adam began.

"Ronan." 

"Right, Ronan. Have you ever watched these kids play?" Adam finished.

"I've never missed a game," Ronan told him proudly.

"Then you know they've never won a game. Ever." Adam said, approaching exasperated.

"The fucks wrong with that? They're just kids!" Ronan exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

"Kids that are sick of losing," Adam argued, "Kids that could be great if they just worked harder, had the right coach."

"Who? You?" Ronan mocked. 

"Maybe," Adam gritted, "No, actually, yes me."

"And what makes you think you would be a good coach, huh?" Ronan sneered.

"Because I had enough shitty coach's to learn what not to do," Adam replied, something defiant in his eyes.

Ronan was about to say something mocking when Opal tumbled from the locker room and ran to them. Her face was beaming. Not at him. But up at Parrish.

"Coach Parrish, about those drills you were talking about," Opal said. What followed was a mostly mind numbing conversation between his daughter and Parrish on hockey drills and plays and tricks that Ronan, for Opal's sake, tried to be interested in, but mostly went over his head.

After several minutes, Opal was ready to go, and was tugging Ronan towards the exit with a shouted goodbye to her coach. As they neared the doors to the lobby on the opposite side of the rink from where they had been talking with Parrish, he turned back to look again at the other man.

Adam wasn't watching them, and instead had his gaze trained on the ice. Ronan couldn't, in the few moments he was able to still see his face, place that look. It was longing, maybe. Or nostalgia. Something grimmer. He wasn't sure, but he somehow knew, that Adam's mind was somewhere far away from the rink he was standing in.

At dinner that night, Opal does do more than talk about her new coach. After all, there are video games to mention, and school gossip to share, and she spends a good five minutes trying, and failing, to convince him to let her get away with not eating the tomatoes on her salad. 

Somehow, around all of this, she finds a way to mention Parrish at least seven times before they finish dessert. 

Its... strange, a little. Opal has always been hesitant to warm up to strangers. He still remembers the hilarious three months spent watching Blue attempt getting to know her. And as what usually happens, Opal flipped a switch one day and started chatting Blue's ears off. With Opal, she was either a brick wall, or never ran out of things to tell you. During the brick wall stage of her getting to know you, she wouldn't even mention you to others. And here Adam Parrish was, breaking through her walls without even seeming to know it, without even having to try.

A wistful feeling grips his heart when he realizes that this is maybe just Opal growing up.

Which, he reminds himself, is a good thing.

A good thing he secretly wishes wouldn't happen for at least another year, maybe.

The rest of the week passes, and Ronan doesn't really think about Adam Parrish again. But then Saturday arrives, and he's dropping Opal off at the rink, and she's running of to talk to Kevin and Lewis, and he see's Adam chatting with a few parent's and he considers going up and making a nuisance of himself.

Of saying something that will make Parrish clench his jaw.

Or doing something that will make him roll his eyes.

Or saying or doing something that will make him groan in exasperation, or make that heat enter his eyes again, or bring color to those cheeks again.

Blue had once laughed as she told him he had never grown out of the hair-pulling stage of having crushes. That he was still like a kid on the playground, who felt like getting any attention from the boy he liked was good attention. Ronan had growled something profanity filled back, though he couldn't remember the exact words. 

"Fuck me," he mumbled under his breath as he turned and walked back to his car.

He was 28 fucking years old. He could handle this. Whatever the fuck 'this' was.

* * *

"You're, like, a masochist," Nadia told him when he finished relaying everything that had transpired between himself and Ronan Lynch.

"I am not," Adam sighed. He groaned when she only snickered at that. "I'm not."

"Nah, maybe not, but you are whining," She laughed, "Also, is your ex really the person you want to be chatting about crushes with?"

"Please," Adam scoffed, "we dated for two weeks. Besides, you always complain about the guys you're dating."

"Eh, I admit to being a hypocrite, but still. You sound like a masochist," Nadia insisted.

"Okay, how? How does anything I just said make me sound like a masochist?" Adam hissed, whispering the last word. He wished she wouldn't say 'masochist' quite so loudly in the crowded bar. He also wondered if she was saying it so loudly on purpose.

"Okay, first? The guy is probably married," She says, raising a finger with each additional point, "Second, you always fall for assholes, it's why we dated, duh. Third, there's probably, like, a rule about coaches dating the parents of the kids they are coaching. Fourth, you can never take the easy way. If something isn't hard, it's like you don't want it. All this together? Boom! You're a friggin' masochist. Just, like, not in a sexy way."

"God," Adam groaned from where he now lay with his head buried in his folded arms over the table. "God, please. Please shut up."

"Those that speak truth will always be persecuted," She sighed as she patted his head in a mockery of sympathy.

The worst part is that there is a little bit of truth in what his friend is saying. He does tend to date assholes. Not real assholes, just. People that can take his brand of asshole and match it. It's also true that he does tend to take the most difficult path to what he wants. So. Maybe there is some truth to the whole masochism thing.

He just hoped that the other two things on Nadia's list aren't true. That there isn't a rule against coaches dating the parents of the kids they are coaching. And that Ronan isn't married. Which. Yes. Makes him an asshole.

"Fuck me," Adam groaned. He groaned again at Nadia's cackling.

On Saturday, he learns from Kevin's mother that Ronan Lynch is, indeed, not married. That he has never been married. That he is, in fact, raising Opal alone, through adoption. 

More importantly, however, he learns that Jacinto, with the proper motivation, has some wicked speed on the ice. That Liam is better suited to be a goalie than Charlie, who would be better at right wing.

Before practice is over on Saturday, he has swapped most of the players positions, keeping only Opal as the center and Donovan as defencemen. He also finishes putting the final touches of their strategy together as he shouts plays and drills from the side of the rink. 

The final half of practice is spent correcting basic changes to their grips and skating. Adam is still showing Donovan the proper way to hold his stick when parents begin showing up, thus putting an end to practice. A small part of Adam is frustrated, wishing they had a few more minutes to go over next Wednesdays plan for practice, but he remembers his own coaches and tamps that frustration down. The kids will be able to feel it radiating off him, and may mistake it with him being frustrated with them.

Most of the kids, except Opal, Jacinto and Charlie have left. The three that remain are huddled together on a bench in the lobby when Adam comes back from putting the rest of the equipment away. They are arguing in whispers while peering at one of their phones, and Adam approaches, leans over, and is blocked from seeing the screen by a now flustered Jacinto.

"What are you guys lookin' at?" Adam said, and found himself suppressing a shudder when he remembered being 12. At that age, the only thing had had evoked such a visceral need to hide what he was looking at had been porn. Well. No. Victoria's Secret catalogs that had gotten passed around by the other boys before being, inevitably, confiscated by one of the teachers. God. He hoped they weren't on the Victoria's Secret website.

"Is this you?" Opal asked after removing the phone from Jacinto's death grip with a huff and an eye roll. 

Adam looks at the screen, and finds a younger version of himself looking back. He's in uniform, though his helmet is off. It was a photo that must have been taken during his Freshman year at Harvard. The image isn't exceptionally clear, but he can make out the smirk he is wearing. God. It's fucking weird to acknowledge that this photo is a decade old. God. He's getting old. He'll be thirty in a few years. _God_.

"I always forget what a beautiful flow I had back then," He muttered.

"What?" Charlie asked, looking confused. This confusion also makes him feel old.

"My hair. It was long then... do people not still call it a flow?" Adam wondered. If not, these kids would be learning some hockey slang at Wednesdays practice, whether it was outdated or not.

"But that means..." Jacinto murmured.

"That means you played on the so-called dream team," Opal said. Adam wondered why it sounded like an accusation. He wondered if she meant for it to sound like an accusation. He wondered why the term 'Dream Team' made something in his chest tighten, even after all these years.

"Holy heck, weren't those two famous D-Men with the New Jersey Devils playing for Harvard back then?" Charlie asked. Before Adam could answer, Jacinto did.

"Joey K and Proko? Yeah," Jacinto answered, taking his phone back from Opal and scanning through the list of players on Harvard's hockey team at that time. Adam had no doubt he would be seeing several names he recognized on that list. 

Swan was playing with the Bruins now. Jiang had just been traded to the Rangers. Skov was one of the stars of the Blues. At least two of his former teammates had now won Stanley cups. Maybe more. He had lost track.

"Crap, you played with some pretty famous dudes," Charlie whistled, leaning over Jacinto's shoulder to read the list as well.

"They weren't really famous back then," Adam said with a shrug.

He waits until the last of the kids have left before marching back into the rink and punching the nearest wall. He almost screams, but restrains himself at the last minute. He thinks the desk attendant in the lobby might not appreciate it. He marches back out to the lobby, smiles at the attendant, and starts walking home. Halfway there, he pauses to dig out his phone.

"Whats up?" Nadia asked after answering on the second ring.

"You busy? You wanna go get a drink?" Adam hummed, already walking towards the bar that he had started thinking of as theirs sometime during their first year of law school. 

"Totally, give me five minutes to finish writing this motherfudger of a brief and I'll be there. Then you can complain about boys with me to your hearts content," She laughed.

"Hah, yeah. Boys," He sighed, "I might just do that."

She must hear something familiar in his tone, because hers changes. Becomes, not softer, not gentler. Just. More comfortable.

"Yeah," She sighed, "Yeah, you should." 

* * *

Ronan notices that something is off about Parrish when he goes to pick Opal up that evening. He won't stop smiling. Which. Is objectively nice, the man has a good smile, and under other circumstances, Ronan would love to see more of it. But. Something about it is. Forced? Even Ronan, who has just met him, can tell it's fake. He tries to forget it.

"Practice go okay?" Ronan asked when they were buckled in and pulling out of the parking lot. He could see Opal shrug from the corner of his eyes. He really wasn't looking forward to her teenage years. He just hoped hers would be better than his. He tried again, "You learn anything?"

"Learned that almost all our positions were wrong. Coach Parrish switched up a bunch of us. I'm still the center, though." Opal sighed.

"Oh, is, that. That's a good thing, right?" Ronan asked again. He remembered when Opal had gotten assigned center, how excited she had been at the time.

"It's cool," Opal mumbled, "Practice already went better with the new positions."

"Mm, ok, cool." Ronan said, "Then do you mind explaining the pissy attitude?"

"Hypocrisy." Opal stated.

"Yeah, hypocrisy, not fun," Ronan agreed, not sure where this conversation was going. Maybe he should call Gansey, he knew from experience how to talk to moody teenagers. After all, he had known Ronan through the worst of his teen years.

"Its just," Opal began, and sat low in her seat with her sneakers on the dash, "Coach Parrish last week was all like 'It's fine to lose, losing is fine, yadda yadda blah blah', but like. The dude's some kind of great hockey player, or whatever. You don't become great because losing is _fine_. Can you believe the hypocrisy?"

Ronan remembers when Gansey had called him and started telling him about Parrish. He had maybe mentioned that the other man had played in college, but Ronan hadn't thought much of that. Hadn't thought much of Parrish at all. 

"And, he has a whole, like, _cadre_ ," Opal continued, "Of famous hockey pals. Practically his whole Harvard team plays for some pro team either here or in Canada."

Ronan's first thought after hearing this, is that he needs to limit Opals exposure to Gansey. Cadre. God. His second thought is that he is proud of how much her disdain of Canada leaks through when she says the word. It matches his own. Hah. Canada.

"Yeah, he sounds like a real asshole," Ronan agreed. He is surprised, when, after coming to a stop and glancing at Opal, she is angry. At him. What the fuck?

"Coach Parrish is not an asshole, he's really cool," Opal gritted. 

"You were the one that was just bad mouthing him!" Ronan exclaimed.

"Yeah, but he isn't an asshole!" Opal insisted, "He's really cool. Charlie was worried about his new position and Coach Parrish was really gentle with him. And he's really encouraging. And, he is, he brought snacks, and we had snacks in the middle of practice. And he told us we didn't have to call him 'Sir'."

"Okay, so Parrish is a saint, fine," Ronan sighed, "Whatever. What do you want for dinner?"

"Mac and cheese," She grumbled. 

That was her 'I'm pissed at you' food of choice, in that it contained no vegetables and was full of fat and carbs and protein. God, he wasn't looking forward to her teenage years.

Several days later, Ronan is in the grocery store, walking towards the check out with a cart full of food, when he spots Parrish standing at the end of one of the lanes. He has bagels under one arm, and is flipping through a gossip magazine. The next lane is shorter, but Ronan still pushes his cart into the spot behind Adam.

"Dude," He said, a little too loudly and managing to startle the other man, "Is that all you're getting?"

"Oh, Ronan. Hey." Adam greeted him. He put the magazine back and shrugged, "Yeah, I already have the cream cheese at home." 

"Cool," Ronan answered, tried to think of something more to say. Something to keep Adam's attention that didn't involve metaphorical hair pulling. "Do you want to join me and Opal for dinner tonight?"

These are not words Ronan had intended to say. He hadn't even realized what he was saying until after he said it. Adam seems surprised at the question, and he glances at the woman in front of him, who is almost done, and back at Ronan. He takes another moment to consider the question, or maybe just to think about how weird Ronan is for asking his daughter's coach over for dinner. Ronan tries to remember if that is something that isn't socially acceptable. It's a hard thing to remember when he had spent most of his life going against what was socially acceptable.

"Sure," Adam hesitated, "If it's not too much of an imposition, of course?"

"I mean," Ronan said, "It's fish sticks, impose all you want."

Adam waits for him at the exit, where Ronan finds him busy tapping furiously at his phone. The weren't parked too far apart, and Adam follows him to his town home. The entire drive, Ronan tries not to think about the smile Adam had given him when he looked up from his tapping.

He fails. Spectacularly.

Opal is just getting off the bus when they arrive and she is both surprised at disproportionately excited to see Adam. While Ronan cooks, Opal and Adam set the table and help out away groceries and Opal complains about homework and Adam just. Offers to help. 

The whole scene is too domestic and Ronan doesn't know if he wants to scream from frustration or glee. He thinks that, maybe, things are progressing too fast.

They talk a little after Wednesdays practice and Ronan thinks, maybe, it counts as flirting. And then Saturday comes, and he is about to leave after seeing Adam busy chatting with one of the other dads, but Adam stops him.

"Ronan, could I talk to you?" He asked, turning first to Glenn and excusing himself and then to the desk attendant, "Vinny, could we use the back office?"

The desk attendant (Vinny, apparently) tosses Adam a key with a bored look. Ronan tells Opal to wait in the car and follows Adam, shutting the door behind him at a gesture from the other man. Adam is leaning against the desk, his arms folded. He is contemplating... something. So, Ronan chooses the opposite wall to lean against. Arms folded. Because folded arms meant you were blocking someone off, and that had always made Ronan defiant. 

"There's no easy way to say this," Adam said. He paused to sigh in constrained frustration. Ronan was tempted to tell him to just not say it then, if it's so hard. He bites his tongue instead. "It's about Opal."

"What's wrong?" Ronan demanded, mind immediately running to the worst case scenarios. 

Opal had been check too hard against the boards, and now has a cracked rib.

Opal had gotten hit in the head by an errant puck of stick, and now probably has a concussion.

In the span of a moment, a dozen horrible possibilities flashed through his mind, each more terrible than the last.

"She's trying to set us up." Adam said, and Ronan was still trying to figure out if he had heard him right while still dealing with the relief that Opal wasn't in dire need of medical services when Adam continued with, "Like, on a date."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm sorry... I changed the chapter count to three instead of two...  
> Also, there is more parenting in this than you were probably expecting.

Adam attempted to contain his grimace. It was a Herculean task that he was slowly failing. He wished Ronan would react in some way. Ask why Adam thought his daughter would try to set them up. Accuse him of lying. Laugh his head off at the idea. Get angry. Go into shock.

Blush, and ask him out.

Anything would be better than the blank expression he received.

"Well," Adam said, and it sounded awkward even to himself, but the silence was draining the last bits of sanity he had today. "She heavily implied that's what her goal was."

This was an understatement. The day's practice had begun normal enough, but during the snack break Adam had instituted, she caught him alone and started dropping hints about her dad's singleness. He had brushed it off at first, giving stilted advice about how he was sure Ronan wasn't as lonely as she thought, he had her after all. He had meant it to be comforting. Instead, she huffed once, twice, and then started laying it on thick enough that Adam finally caught on. 

Adam had had lots of people hit on him. He had been hit on by others' wingmans and wingwomens both. Had had parents and grandparents and other well meaning older relatives suggest he date their supposedly lovely relatives. 

Having someone's daughter basically tell him to ask her dad out was a totally different, and not altogether pleasant, experience.

"That," Ronan paused, frowned, "certainly sounds like something someone would do in a 90's Disney movie."

"How does that-" Adam pushed himself away from the desk, and ran his hand through his hair in frustration, "-even matter? How are you not more concerned or upset by this?"

Ronan had the decency to look marginally more bothered by the situation, looking away from Adam to gaze at a spot somewhere above his left shoulder and letting a small grimace settle over his features, but still not bothered enough to suit Adam.

"Mostly because it just seems so absurd. Like a Disney channel movie. We are two grown adults, and my tween daughter is trying to set me up with her coach? That just- that doesn't _happen_ in real life," Ronan said.

"And yet here we are," Adam said, spreading his arms in a way he hoped wasn't too dramatic.

"If we ignore it, she'll forget about it eventually," Ronan said, and Adam wondered if he was trying to convince Adam or himself, "Probably."

"Probably," Adam repeated, a little dumbfounded. He wondered, briefly, if this was something that Opal just _did_. If Ronan was so blase about this because Opal commonly hit on strange men for him. Adam hoped not. For a multitude of reasons.

Ronan asked him if there was anything else he needed to discuss with him, and Adam, a bit annoyed, told him no and shooed him out of the borrowed office. Once he was safely gone, Adam sagged back against the desk and groaned. 

Adam was busy sorting the last of his case files, preparing to leave the office early for once, when he was surprised by Gansey knocking at the open door. 

"Sorry to bother you," He said, looking not at all sorry, "I just wanted to ask how the coaching was going."

"Fine," Adam drawled, trying not to look nervous. The last time Gansey had started asking questions with that expression, Adam had gotten roped into being a Pee-Wee coach. Which. He didn't exactly regret, but still.

"I heard from Opal that the team is really shaping up," Gansey said, "That you may have a shot at the tournament, even."

Adam tried not to let his doubt show on his face. It was true that the team had improved since that first practice, but to think that they had a shot at the tournament was a little too optimistic. Unless the other teams in the district were somehow even worse, which was technically possible but didn't seem very probable. Maybe if they increased to three practices a week instead of two, or if Finn was a little more motivated, or if Opal was constantly trying to play so aggressively, or a dozen other issues got resolved.

"Anythings possible," Adam finally said, though he still didn't quite believe it.

Gansey hummed, tapped his knuckles against the door twice and said, "Me and a few friends are meeting up for tapas and drinks, do you care to join?"

"Sure," Adam sighed, resigned. Gansey had asked it in the same 'This isn't actually a question, but rather a thinly veiled order' that he had used to get Adam to become a coach.

When they arrived at the hole-in-the-wall restaurant/bar, Adam expected to see Blue, Gansey's girlfriend and Adam's friend. He also was sorta even expecting to see Henry and Noah, who Adam had met at the last Christmas party. Who was unexpected, and a complete surprise to see, was Ronan Lynch.

Adam hated Gansey, a little bit.

"Coach," Ronan greeted him as Adam slid in next to him, the only seat left in the booth.

"Lynch," Adam said, frowned, "Is Opal with a sitter?"

"My older brother is in town, and she decided to be a traitor and stay with him," Ronan scoffed.

Ronan had somehow managed to make the words 'older brother' sound like the filthiest curse word that existed. Adam was sure there was a story there, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know it. Adam was about to change the topic of the conversation, when he realized this was the first time they had spoken since last Saturday and the whole Opal trying to set them up fiasco. He was suddenly supremely uncomfortable and was extremely grateful to the waiter who chose that moment to come up to the table and start taking everyone's orders. He had probably saved him from embarrassing himself, and Adam silently vowed to tip him well for it.

He was further saved by Blue and Henry, who had gotten into an argument over a case that was being taken up by the Supreme Court. The two were diametrically opposed on what they believed the ruling would be, and the two demanded the rest of the table choose a side. It had devolved from there, the two sides passionately arguing their points, and barely keeping themselves from getting personal with their responses for why the other side was absolutely wrong.

"Well of course there is precedent, that's not what I'm saying, Jane, dear," Gansey said, "Only that you can't say that the court hasn't changed since that ruling almost fifty years ago!"

"But that's just the point Gansey!" Blue exclaimed, "The court has changed, sure, but does that mean they should start ignoring precedent? Look at what the court just ruled in the case of _Nobume V. Xenia_ _Industries_. That whole case was based upon the precedent set by _Thurston V. Howell_."

"Not to mention _Lovey V. Wentworth,_ " Adam said.

"Okay, fair, but what I think Gansey is trying to say is that those cases are all ancient history, and that the courts may change the precedent to set the path of legal history on a new path," Henry said, gesturing too wildly in the cramped booth.

"Objection!" Ronan suddenly shouted, startling Adam and everyone else at both their table and a few near them, "I saw Czerny double-dip in the Ranch!"

"Denied!" Noah gasped, his hand to his chest.

"Overruled," Ronan growled, "I saw it, 'fess up you scumbag."

Adam didn't know why, but he laughed harder then he had in a long time. From the corner of his eye, he caught Ronan watching him, a pleased expression on his own face.

* * *

Ronan watched as Declan drove away, his shiny, practical Volvo disappearing down the street. Opal watched with him, shifting her weight from side to side and adjusting her duffel bag every few seconds. She was antsy, and it made him nervous. 

He turned on his heel and trudged up to their apartment, Opal following close behind.

"Did you have fun?" Ronan asked once the door was locked behind them.

"Yeah," Opal sighed, shuffling down the hall to throw her bag into her room. She met him in the kitchen and plopped herself into a stool at the counter.

"'Kay," Ronan said, pulling out everything he needed to make them sandwiches for lunch, "What did you do?"

"Well, after Uncle Dec picked me up, we got chili dogs from some sketchy guys in a food truck. Then he drove me to the park and he got in a fight with a guy who almost hit me in the head with a frisbee, but I was fine and the guy was a jerk and Uncle Dec took us to get ice cream after. And then we met Ashley at the hotel and she let me braid her hair and paint her toenails and Uncle Dec said I could paint his too but then he got a phone call and his friend got him tickets to a hockey game so we went and watched the Capitals play the Devils." Opal rambled.

"Did Declan hit the guy?" Ronan asked, pissed that his brother hadn't bothered to mention this when he dropped his daughter off. Or why he hadn't called him as soon as it happened.

"Not a _fight_ fight," Opal said, rolling her eyes, "He just chewed him out for awhile, telling him to be more careful and stuff."

"Oh," Ronan said, and went back to spreading mayo on bread.

"How was your night last night?" Opal asked.

"Um," Ronan said, turned to find her studiously examining her nails, "Fine?"

"You met up with Gans, right?" She said, still looking at her nails, "And Blue? Anybody else there?"

Ronan sighed. Sometimes his daughter was like a dog with a fucking bone. He had tried to convince Parrish that she would grow bored with trying to set them up, and it had only been a few days, but he had hoped she would have given up by now. Maybe in a week. If she hadn't stopped by then, or if Parrish was really uncomfortable with it, he would have to sit her down. Have a serious conversation with her about privacy.

"Well?" Opal said, pushing for an answer. Again, dog with a fucking bone.

"Noah was there, and Henry," Ronan said. He pretended to think, like he was struggling to recall anyone else being there.

"Nobody else?" She pressed, visibly frustrated.

"I think that's- oh, wait!" Ronan said, clapping his hands together, and trying not to feel to bad for what he was about to do, "There was a waiter! And an old man with a really shitty toupée was sitting next to us!"

"Urg, Dad," Opal groaned, stood from her stool and grabbed one of the sandwiches. As she trudged off to her room, she shouted, "You're impossible!"

"I know!" Ronan called after her. 

The last word came from her slammed door, and Ronan's answering cackle. 

Opal was already waiting in the parking lot when he went to pick her up after Wednesday's practice. She threw her hockey bag in the trunk and herself into the passenger seat, thrusting a piece of paper at him at the same time as she slammed her door shut.

"Could you sign this? I- Aha!" She said, producing a pen from where she had been rummaging through the center console, "I need parental permission to add another day of practice every week."

Ronan frowned at this, and read the paper. It was indeed asking his permission for Opal to start having hokey practice three days a week, instead the the two she had been attending. At the end was a phone number, for if there were any 'concerns' regarding the increased practices.

"Coach said it was necessary," Opal told him, "That we need to put in the effort if we want to be any good."

"If you're grades start slipping," Ronan began.

"They won't!" Opal interrupted.

"Opal," He said, and then sighed, " _If_ they start slipping, I won't make you stop. But we'll have to change your schedule. Re-prioritize some stuff. Maybe cut back on some of your t.v time, or something."

"That's fine," Opal said enthusiastically, nodding her head. 

"You sure?" Ronan asked.

"Yes," Opal grinned, and the next thing he knew, she was throwing herself at him and hugging him. "Thanks Dad, I promise you won't regret this."

"I already am," He wheezed, trying to breath after having the wind knocked out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I proud of this? No. Not at all.

**Author's Note:**

> CLIFFHANGER!!!! *Jazz hands*
> 
> Some might say Hockey is a much more Ronan sport than an Adam sport, and... yeah, I agree to be honest. But like, you can pry Jock!Adam out of my cold dead hands, okay? Its just fun to write, okay?  
> Also, Pee Wee hockey is no longer called Pee Wee hockey at all, so this and some of the other terminology used in this fic may be pretty dated. Sorry.  
> The only thing I remember from MD is the one kid setting his... mom? up with the lawyer/coach and the girl playing hockey. And something about cheating, idk.  
> Chapter 2 will be out... eventually.


End file.
